Mexican border ballads

WRITTEN ON t^if%^£'^ AN BORDER.

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MEXICAN

BORDER

BALLADS

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WRITTEN ON THE BORDER
BY F. B. CAMP

FIRST EDITION

PUBLISHED BY F. B. CAMP, DOUGLAS, ARIZONA

COPYRIGHT 1916 BY F. B. CAMP

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DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OP KENNETH W. PICKETT

of Big Tii&i^ber, Mont., member of Headquarters Company, Seeonfi
Montana Infantry, who died on August 30, 1916, at Douglas, Ari*.,
from an Illness contracted while doing- his duty on the Mexicasa
Border,

^^Jiot the rattle of the drum for him.

Not the piping of the fife.
Nor the bullets of the enemy.

That took him from this life,
Let the music of his death

Be the tramp of marching men.
For the heart of Kenneth Pickett

Was as big as any ten.
Of his fortitude and patience.

Of his grit that never died.
Oh, Montana and Big Timber!

You can think of him with pride.
Step by step, he took with others.

Here where men's souls live and die.
And his smile was always cheery

For his motto was, "Fll try."
Not for him the bugle blow^ing.

As it called the men to arms.
Not for him the smoke of battle»

"Wth its brutal, crushing charniK.
In this land he gave his all

Midst the crisis and disorder;
Father, mother, sw^eetheart, friend—-

liVlien he died here on the border.
We will miss him from among us.

For he surely w^as a man.
But his spirit w^ill be vpith us.

Always marching in the van.
We w^ill hear his laugh .a jtlngims*

Feel the pressure of ".fjxs hand.
For we know^ that he 'ciied fighting.

In the service of his land.
Not the rattle of the drum for him!.

Nor the piping of the fife.
Not the bullets of the enemy.

That took him from this life.
Let the music of his death.

Be the tramp of marching men.
For the heart of Kenneth Pickett

Was as big a» any tem.

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On the Way to the Border

H, it's nice to be a soldier.
In the ranks of Uncle Sam,
A bloody, bloomin' soldier,

Who doesn't care a damn.
Not a soldier in the regiilars.
But in the volunteers;
One Avho listens to his country's call.

And leaves his home in tears.
It's nice to hear them cheerinic:.

When the train g^oes throug-h a town
That has builded in the sage brush,
'Mongst a scene of sordid bro^fvn.

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When we hear the natives cheering-.

See the "Chickens" -ivaving flagSy
Have the Dollies stuffing^ candy

In our dirty khaki bags.
It's nice to eat the rations.

That get scarcer every day.
As our train leaves old Montana*

For the border state of A,
We have canned horse for luncheon.

For breakfast and for tea;
The brute arriA-es so often.

It makes me want to flee.
This morning we had jelly.

Which is very seldom seen.
I discovered mine by scouting;

'Twas hiding neath a bean.
Last night as I -was sleeping,

I dreamed a funny dream;
I thought that I was eating

Peaches sliced with cold ice cream.
I had a juicy beefsteak.

Cut from a yearling covr
But just as I Avas cutting it,

A rooky hollered chow,
I awakened from my slumber.

Which had been very brief.
To find my chunk of canned horse

Had been taken by a thief.
I won't say that I was hungry.

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'Can.se it sure %vould sound like l^elX^
But the names I called that roofcy»

TVell, I simply cannot tell.
But it's nice to be a soldier.
In the ranks of Uncle Sam,
If you aren't too particular.

And don^ ^ve a tinker's dam."

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A Rookie's Letter Home

LiOIVG the Mexican Border, AugTist twcnty-elgrht.

Dear Mother: I am ivriting-, I kno^v a trifle late.

But I have been so busy, with the Soldiers*' daily
^riud

That I've neprlected ^Aritiiig, but I know you will
not mind,

Whcu you've read what I am writing* you'll feel
a whole lot better.

And I promise that hereafter, I will write a daily
letter.

Tell Sis she wouldn't know me, since I left our little town.
For the sun has surely baked me, a most gorgeous golden brown.
Tell Dad if he could see lue, he would never cuss me more.
For oversleeping mornings, or neglecting any chore.
Tell little brother Bennie, I've a pistol and a gun,
A really truly rifle, that -wasn't made for fun.
Tell Hattie that I love her, when you see her. Mother dear.
That sleeping, drilling, working, I keep wishing she >vere here.—
Tell Aunty that I thank her for the little wooden box.
The home-made jam and cookies, and th.t>- dozen knitted sox.
Tell Sis's feIlo-»v for me, if he wants to have some fun.
To join the U. S. army, and get himself a gun.
Tell Tom and Dick and Harry and strapping Jimmie Coots,
That the regiment is needing a thousand more recruits.
Just tell 'em tvhat I'm writing, in this letter, dear, to you.
So that each and every one, will know just what we do.
At five a. m. the bugle blows, the call to rise and dress;
At five-fifteen the morning run, at six a. m. the mens.
Hot cakes and syrup, coffee, spuds, mush and bacon fried.
With sugar, milk and home baked bread to fill the space inside.
At half past six. Fatigue call sounds, the streets and tents are

p'liced.
Then we drill for t'tvo long hours, before we are released.
From nine a. m. 'till three p. m., we sleep and write and read.
Then drill again, dear mother, for it's drilling that we need.
The Post Exchange supplies our wants with almost anything.
We've a big brown tent and organ >vhere -^ve can go and sing.
W^e can get a pass to go to town, 'most any time we wish,
W''e*ve everything >ve want to eat, both plain and fancy dish.
We've a ball team, some boxing gloves, a wrestling match and

craps.
We've each a little army cot, we sleep ou after taps.

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W«^ve mess hails With moequito net, and shovreT bathes qtiite di-
vine.
Oh I there's nothii»s, Mother, ^(vhich we have that isu't extra fine,
We^e clothes galore for every need; Sunday, ^vork or play.
We've a colonel who's a dandy, and a day on which they pay.
We've a hundred things, dear Mother, that I haven't room to men-
tion,
A hundred things, dear Mother, that require our close attention.
^^'e are happy and w^e're healthy, and we're learning to be men.
Such a chance to get a schooling, we may never have again.
Oh! I miss you. Mother darling, hut I'm happy and content.
With the hours and weeks we're spending in the regulation tettt,
'Cause I know^ I need the schooling I may never get again.
The school that takes the weaklings, and makes them into men.
J^fow, Mother dear, I've ivritten you, a letter that is long,
"Efficiency's" the title of our regimental song,
^o I'll close with love and kisses, and heart that's full of joy.
And sign my name as always, 'Your Happy Soldier Boy."'

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The Daily Drill of the Rookies; or
The Captain's Lament

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am the Captain of a conipauy
O'er which I rave and grloa*

But shoving: rookies how to drill
Has almost grot my j^oat.

At six a. m. the drill call sounds
The line is full of dents

Some are crawlingr into ranks
Some sleeping in their tentH.

The whistle blo^svs, the Top roars out

Attention men in ranks
The men are ^rumblin^ in the line

The officers are cranks.

"Rigrht Dress'* the order then is yelled

Some men they can't see straigrbt.
The line looks like the pickets

On a broken >TOOden gate.

Its Jones step out» and Smith get back

And Dobson lift your head
And Corporal Jimmy Dodg:ers

You stand like you were dead.

"Inspection Arms" the order comes

The bolts they click and rattle
They sound just like a bum stenogr.

Or Villa's men in battle.

"Heads Tip'* — "Eyes Front" — Now stand that way

And Johnson stop your talk
"Right Face," "Forward March" I say

For Mike's sake learn to walk.

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♦'Column Rig'ht," the order comeA

Daiuu it -watch your step.
You're not marching' at a funeral.

So fill yourselves Tvith pep.

♦'Squads left about" and "Right Otolique"

Ye Gods you're sure a show
You turn the corners like a wheel

You're rotten and you're sslo'w.

"Company Halt" "Right Shoulder Amis/'

Please do it witli a snap.
Confound you Sergeant Billy

Yon haven't time to gap.

Thus it goes day hy day,

W^hen rookies learn to drill.
If you're Captain of a company
You sure vpill get your fill.

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What a Rookie Thought of
Border Duty

HIS is the Mong: of a rookie, as he sits oa the border

alone.
On the dark, damp nij^hts, when the hot slafs: lightx

roll do^vn from the smelter zone.
When it's sultry and >varm, while mosquitoM

swarm, and buzas with an angry tone.

I'm one of Uncle Sam's soldiers, but simply a vol-
unteer,
I came ^vith the Second, when grrim duty beckoned.
Thus I am here.
Here where you stifle, holdingr a rifle, under the blazing sun.
Here where you pray, day after day, for a little Mexican fun.

Out on the Mexican border, after the sun's gone down.
Thinking of fights and watching the lights, that twinkle in Doug-
las town,
l^alking your post at midnight, strolling along at your ease.
All of your hair in erection, a weakness in both of your knees.

Ever alert for a Greaser, Avatching the shadows flit by.
Falling flat on your stomach, when the hot slag brightens the sky.
Glueing your eyes to the glasses, cursing the flaw and the fault,
Hearing far in the distance, the sentry on guard holler "Haiti"

Trying to sleep in the gruard tent, trying by closing your eyes.
Fighting the gnats and mosquitoes, s'tvatting the pesky flies.
Out on the Mexican border, scarcely a mile from camp.
Out where the w^hirr of a rattler, makes all of your body damp.

Post No. 3 on the border, where you have a view of the to^vn.
Scorching, blistering sunshine that bakes you a golden broAvn.
Canteens half full of water, w^ater that's limpid and glugs.
Watching a column of red ants, skirmishing after bugs.

Bugs of every description, variey, color and kind.
Some vrith two legs on the front end, others >vith several behind:
Tarantulas, lizards and beetles, that fly and walk and crawl.
Bugs with a poisonous stinger that look like a carpenter's avrl.

This Is the song of a rookie Avho walked the border alone
In the bright moonlight, spilin' for a fight with Senor Villa Anton e
W^hile the senators home, 'neath the capitol dome, picked the Inter-
national Bone*

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Impressions of a Few Days on the
Mexican Border

URMOII,, confusion, thing^s all upset,
"Wind storms and thunder, rain that is wet.
Sand and red dobie, sun burning: hot.
The whole commissary tied in a knot.

Canned milk a-boilingr out in the sun,
Corned beef a cooking 'til it is done.
Bread that is baking: without any fire.
The grrub that is spoiling rouses our ire.

Water in pipes that is really luke warm.
Red ants by thousands constantly swarm.
Typhoid injections, ten thousand germs,
Langruage by non-coms, any old terms.

Smoke from the smelter tries us to choke.
Gases of arsenic born of coke,
IHvo kinds of cactus, plenty of thorns,
Twenty-t^vo buglers blowing their horns.

Thirty-two sick men lying in bed.
Sweating and groaning, with pains in their head.
Rookies complaining about the choiv.
Wishing for eggs and milk from a cow^.

Mess kits and rifles all in disorder.
One German rookie crossing the border.
Men in the tents sing "Tipperary,"
Mexican bones all over the prairie.

Special detail for the men in the squads.
Blankets and ponchos rolled up in w^ads.
Cartridges issued, one bandolier.
Some of the rookies feeling quite queer.

Beautiful shower bath once every day.

Plenty of ticks, shortage of hay.

Jitney trolleys that take you to tow^.

Root beer in schooners, bright sparkling brown.

Mexican peons riding on mules,

W^ise men and soldiers, soldiers and fools.

Everything gradually getting In order.

Here where we're camped on the Mexican border.

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The Woman and the Rookie

HTO rookie wa» tired of camp life, as he sat in the

first squad tent
Hi.s hat was tilted .sideways and his back and hiM
knecM were bent.
So the Captain passing;, took pity and g-ave hint

a pass to g-o.
For a fe-w short hours, to civilized bowers, to walk

on the Alamo.

He put on his brand new leggins, his tie and hi/»
tailored blouse.
And said good-bye to the Captain, as he passed by the old t^nard

house.
His fellow rookies in misery cursed as he started to go.
To the bright wide streets of the city, where schooners of root-
beer flow.

Oh, the feeling tha:t filled the rookie, whose face was a sunburned

brown.
As he boarded the jitney trolley and started to ride to town.
Was one that he long remembered, one he could never forg-et,
A joyous, satisfied feeling that moistened his eyes with wet.

He called at the House of Welcome where the lights were burning-
bright.
Called tvith three other rookies, on that lon^ remembered night.
And there he met one W^oman, a girl in a thousand I guess.
She asked him a hundred questons and he answered them all writh
a yes.

Then she said "Let*s move to the outside and sit where it's dark

and cool.
And I'll tell you the dream of my lifetime, the one vrhere I'nt

teaching school.
So they went from tlie room of brig-htness, to the cool dark porch

outside.
And the Woman she told the rookie many things as he sat by her

side.

Told him of foreign countries, the Isles of the Philippine,
Told him of rain and sunshine and other things she had seen.
Told him about her Daddy w^ho rode into Mexico,
W^onderful things she told him, things that were really so.

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The rookie sat toy the ^voman, there on the dark cool porch.
There where the heat of their friendship had'nt a chance to scorehj,
And she told him about her childhood, her life and the after years,
*Till her eyes and those of the rookie were filled with genuine
tears.

Oh, the woman she talked to the rookie in a very wonderful ^vay^
Not as a total stranger she had known the part of a day.
But as one she had known for ag-es, numbered by many years,
A friend of the past and the future, thus destroying his fears.

Fears of a brutal environment, w^here men*s hopes slowly die.
Pear of the ignorant mortal, -who crawls beneath the sky.
Fear of the back^vard sliding on the slippery hill of Hate,
Fear of the shackles welded by the grim sure hand of Fate.

She spoke of Wilson as president, of the things he never had done«

Hoiv he let the Mexican Villa murder our men for fun.

How the orders issued from Washington were not w^hat they ought

to be.
Oh, she opened the eyes of the rookie and made him correctly see.

She w^as a wonderful woman and he was a comman man.
She was a soldier's daughter, he of the Roving clan.
Her life had been spent -with the army practically all of her years.
And his had been spent in the big if^'orld in the Valley of Strife and
Tears.

But the few hours spent w^ith the Woman that night w^hen the

rookie called.
Were the happiest spent in ages, for the army fetters galled.
They made the burden more easy and lifted him out of the hold
That was dark, and deep and bottomless, a trap for the rookie'et

soul.

They made him contented 'with camp life and his cot in the first

squad tent.
Took the kink from out of his shoulders and straightened his legs

that w^ere bent.
Made his soul a beautiful image Instead of a sordid clod.
And brought him back to his real self, and made him believe in

God.

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Did You Ever Do the Things We
Do Upon the Border?

ID you ever eat your dinner when the rain vra»
pouring' down.
Sitting on the dobie that was wet and sticicy
brown.
With your mind upon a cafe in a thriving: northern
town.
While the non-coms w^atclied you eating: Avith »
military frown?

No? Well w^e have to do this thing right here
upon the Border.

Did you ever have a non-com w^ith tw^o stripes upon his arm.
Giving orders to .the rookies like a silly yoiing school-marm.
One who ought to be a working on his uncle's dairy farm.
Far a>vay from greaser bullets that would cause him any harm?

No? W^ell >ve have to do this thing right here upon the Border.

Did you ever try to slumber on a strawless cotton tick.
On a damp and dirty dobie floor that almost made you sick.
Where the bloody, bloomin', pesky ants -were crawling very thick.
And the only decoration was a regulation pick?

No? W^ell we have to do this thing right here upon the Border.

Did yon ever have to dig a ditch to hold the surplus rain.
Make the water run up hill and then run down again.
Dig until your aching back «as yelling loud with pain,
And the typhoid in your punctured arm was swelling up a vein?
No? Well yve have to do this thing right here upon the Border.

Did you ever have to get a pass to take a nice clean batli.
Get a pass to leave the camp and walk the narro^v path.
Or get a pass to do a thing that's always aftermath.
And brave, if you are passless, tlie major's awful >vrath.

No? "Well ^-e have to do this thing right here upon the Border.

Did you ever live within a camp where everything's upset.
WTiere the wind is always windy and the rain is always »vet,
W^here everytliiug is tangled in ;BFtCfi^«^^icial net.
Where >ve always w^ill reuieinfoesi^' thit?HKhings'^e canH tforgeCf' '

No? W>11 werliave fb do this thing- right here upon the Border

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Oh, the nevers that you've never had to d©.

May sound as if they weren't really true.

But honest, what I've wrote.

Would set A captain's goat.

If he was made to do the things we have to d®.

But down here on the border,

'Mongst the turanoil and disorder,

WTiere old Villa killed some greasers last Novemtee:^^,

We are being schooled and drilled.

And our minds are being filled,

W^ith the evers that we always will remember.

Target Practice

Ei'ER lie upon your belly >vith 80111C other soldier pardn,
AVhere the distance to the targets was just two hun-
yards.
When the sun was shininji;: brightly with a tantalizing:
glare,
And the dust Avas floating: thickly in the heavy laden air?

Ever listen to the bullet -with it's ^vhiningr, singing kiss.
Then have the chump who's scoring call your shot a perfect miss.
Ever try for ten straight bulleyes, what they call a perfect score.
And find when you had finished, eight t^vos, a three and four?

Ever lie upon your stomach in a rocky sandy hole,
W^ith your eyes upon the target and the markers shifting pole*
With your sights a holding windage and the sling about your arm.
While your mind was wandering homeward to a little dairy farm?

Ever bring your eyes to focus on the little spot of black,
With your elbow on a pebble and kink within your back,
W'ith your finger on the trigger and your shoulder on the stock,
WTiile all your thots w^ere dreading the recoils awful shock?

Ever shoot at number seven when you should have shot at eight.
Then swear your bloomin' rifle never shot a bullet straight.
Ever shoot a string of bullets ^vhen you couldn't qualify.
And blame your atvful shooting on a defect in your eye?

Ever keep right on a shooting when the bugle blew "cease Fire";
And have the Major bawl you out with wrath and awful ire,
Evere shoot your string a standing when your nerves were all

awry.
And a blurr was creeping slowly o'er your aching painful eye?

W^hen your weak and limpid finger lacked the strength to pull the

trigger.
And you wished the little bull's eye, was bigger, bigger, bigger;
WTien the firing of the rifles made your ear drums fairly split.
And you knew >vithout your shooting you could never make a hit?

Ever richochett a bullet from a pebble off the ground,

♦Till it struck a perfect bullseye when it made a quick rebound.

Ever kneel "»vith twenty others at two hundred rapid fire.

And pray like seven angels that your arms would never tire?

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Ever Iiear the Major holler— "Get ready, load your grans/^
And vratch the targets dancing- like a bnnch of shaking- »uus$r
Siver make two bullseye» running, then miss the target clean,
»Canse your arms and legs ^vere vi-abbling like a Mexicana Q.ueen?

Ever flinch -when you were shooting and bnmp your blooniin* nose,
"While the recoil of your rifle spoiled your perfect shooting pose^
Ever shoot the range for record and fail to qualify,
'Cause the shots that you were shooting w^ere a foot or so too high?

Ever try for Expert Rifleman, and when all your shots w^ere shot^
Find that Marksman at one-sixty -^vas all the prize you got.
Ever shoot like Wm. Cody from his seat upon a mount.
And find that when you'd finished that your Possible didn't count?

If you've never done these evers, why it's not so awful strangCj,
♦Cause you've never spent a vireek upon the Target Range;
Never lived in pup tents and dined on Willie canned,
Never been upon the Border in the land that Villa banned.

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The Wild Turnip Eaters

EMEMBER the story has been told.
And magnified a thousand fold,
Concerning,' some rookies exceedingly

bold,
"Who ate of a root that knocked thoui
cold.

When out on a hike the regiment weut.
Deserted the camp and vacated tent.
Six or eight hours in marching sp<rut,
'Till they reached the hills that \ver<-
twisted and bent.

W^onderful hike the Colonel had planned.
As through his g-lasses the desert he scanned,
W'here the bloody hot -winds, scorched and fanned.
The coulees Tvhere cacti grows in the sand.

Out ■tvhere the Spanish Bayonet grotvs.

Out -^vhere a sluggish brooklet floTVS,
Out on the hills >vhere it never snovrs.

And the red hot wind forever blo>vs.

"Get ready to march," the order canie.

Private and Captain both the same.
Part of the big political game,

A'o one excused but the sick and the lame.

Food to be taken for every man.

Hauled in a vragon by mules a span.
Cooked in a monstrous kitchen pan.

And served to 'em all in a mess kit can.

Avray from the camp the regiment s>vuug.

While many a song- the rookies sung.
Hard on the throat, the ear and the lung.

In civilized life they'd surely be hung.

A winding: column of cotton O. D.

That from a distance vras hard to see.
The Colonel a thousand men and me.

Out on the Mexican Bound-aree-.

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Twenty-t^vo mile« from camp we stopped.

Pup tents pitched the regiment flopped,
"While the Colonel the sweat from his face just moppeiS,

As the big' red sun the lime hills topped.

Oh, a ivonderful place we choose for a camp.

Where the ^vind w^as windy and the rain was damp^

"Where the smelter smoke came dow^n like a clamp.
And smothered the flame in the kitchen lamp.

Blow^ this Is a tale of the wild turnip squad.

Not of a country forgotten by God,
"Wlhere the brown grass bakes in the doble sod.

And the soul of a man becomes a clod.

It appears where the sluggish brooklets floi?r,

A specie of turnip is w^ont to grow,
1%e mescal turnip if you all must know.

The eating of which makes a man loco.

N»t only loco but awfully sick.

In a horrible manner and aw^fnlly quick.

It hits like a mule is ^vont to kick.

And you take the count while the watches tick.

Thms it was on the camping ground.

While some curious rookies were snooping around,
•This poisonous root w^as duly found.

And eaten in pieces from an ounce to a pouiid.

Jvistt think of them eating this nauseous weed.
Bucking the unwritten laiv and the creed,

"WTiere all vegetation, trees, bushes and seed.
Hold poisons that none of their systems need.

Digging a root from out of the soil,

Wlhere poisons simmer and bubble and boiI«

"Wliere deadly rattlers sleep in a coil.

And the thorns of the mesquite is nature's foil.

Elating this root like a famished horde.

Not men who were fed on the government board;.

Men who had studied and believed in the Liord,
Is it any wonder they all were floored?

Grovelling around in the dirt and sand.

Sick at the stomach, and weak in the hand»

Cassiug the root, the hike and the land.
Damning the root to beat the band.

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^'AVlld Turnip,'^ Huid one was the nnme of the thing,
\h he paNNed the pieces around the ring.

And >vatehed them eat as they ntarted to hIu-S,
Of the glorious future the years tvould brings.

Some in a minute, ttome in an hour,

AVere made deathly Hick by tlie poi^ououH po>ver,
AV'hiie the spirit of deatli, commenced to tower.

And ^'ithdra-w life from the rookies dower.

*<Assininc ignorance," said Major Riddell,

W^hy it certainly beats all the hinges of Hell,

How a damn fool who is healthy and -well.

Could claim that he had an ounce of brain cell.

Now- I've told you about these poor galoots.

Who fell by the road side dressed in their boots.

How most of them thot they were shooting the shoots*
~Wheu the poison had gripped them that grows in the
roots.

How back to the camp they staggered that night,
Ejecting their suppers and pulling belts tight.
Some of them green and some of them white.
But not one amongst them ready to fight.

How the Major in front of the hospital ward.

Castor oil in their systems in large doses poured,

TVhile their thots to the heights of ridicule soared.
And they swore they'd be satisfied with Govt, board.

Now this is a tale with a moral forsooth,

Everything written the absolute truth.
Some things that are chewed in the month by the tootk,

Will often destroy the fountains of youth.

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Camp Rumors

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OU could hear them on the p*rade groitnS^ft,

You could hear them in your tent.
You would hear the darndest runioir^i,
*Most any place you "went.

Rumors of old Villa,

Who had killed a thousand men.
Rumors of the orders,

That VFOuld take us home a^ain.

Rumors of injections.

For every kno^vu ill.
Rumors 'bout the mess hall.

That Tvere very hard to kill.

There were rumors 'bout the Colonel,

The Majors and the cooks.
The damndest bunch of rumors.

That >vould fill ten thousand booksc

Rumors of the rookie.

Who beat it o'er the hill.
Oh, of rumors on the Border,

"SSfe surely had our fill.

Why it was even rumored.

In our camp, that I had wrote.

That the man who was our president.
Would never vrrite another note.

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The Sunny Side of Soldier Life

<«l have written of this soldier life, in a darn 8arcaHti«>

way.
The drill and worlc Pve raved about, and over-

loolccd the play.
The sombre side, the dreary side, Pve headlined in

my verse.
Some thing's Pve painted awfully bad and others

simply worse.

With j^rouch and eyesight very dim, I've felt oil-
noxious stings,
I've written with a humor that destroys the joy in things*
Kitehen Police — Fatigue Call — discomforts of the mess,
I've hit them all a wallop and rumpled up their dress.

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The non-commissioned officers have made my dander boil.
Because of orders issued that produced a dearth of toil.
The Captain and Lieutenant hav^e been cussed and also damned.
And the regiment, from soup to nuts, I've very meanly slammed.

But, I've overlooked the joyful side, when scribblinj^ do-wn my muse
And have written of discomforts that would give a man the bines.
But now I'm g'oing; to cut it with this pencilonian knife.
And tell you of the sunny things in Mr. Rookie's life

There's the ball ^ame on the p'rade grounds, just behind the Ma-
jor's tent.
There's the fun you have each pay day and the money to be spent.
There's a kangarooing courthouse with a Rookie as a judge.
And the box of home-made plunder, full of cake and chocolate
fudge.

There's the movie with its pictures, when to towTi you taet a pass.
There's the smiling: jolly features of your best beloved lass.
There's the Avrestling- match and boxing, the bloomin' g^ame of

craps.
And the cot that's made of canvas, where yon mooch some pleasant

Maps.

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There's the singriug: in tlie squad tents, -n'hen the rookies set tts-^

sether.
There's the hours T^e spend in loafing', vrhen its ivet and rainy

Treather,
There's the canteen with its candy and its sparltling- cold root beer^
Its cig^arettes and souvenirs and other things that cheer.

There's the chaplain and the service, he holds each Sunday morn.
There's the dandy Sunday dinner— chicken fricaseed — and corn.
There's the fellovr -with the camera vrho snaps you "»vhen yoa'r-ft'

dressed.
And the pictures in your alhum, of the ones you love the best.

Now I've told you of the sunny things in every soldier's life,

I've vrritten naught of trouble, or of regimental strife.

And every w^ord I've ivritten is absolutely true.

The sunny things are many 'mongst the things we have to do.

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Our Soldier Chaplains

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-you, who are far from

EN of the army — listen-
home.
Hark to AA'hat I have -ivritten, in this crudely

■worded poem.
Listen to Avhat I have written, concerning: a few

brave men,
Wlio fiisrht life's wonderful battles, with a prayer

and a solemn amen.
These are our chaplain soldiers, who answered the

Border call.

Who came with you men to the border lea'\'ins
their homes and all.
Men, whose religious teachings, concerning: the Christ and Lord,
Were far removed from the army, ivith its rifle, bullets and sword.
Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist — reg-ardless of class or creed.
Came with you men to the Border, because of your country's need.
Now listen, to what I tell you, impress it all on your mind.
Concerning- these men, who are "»vith us, men of a wonderful kind.
Remember the night you were thinking of the girl you had left at

home.
The night that the blues were creeping and your feet were itching

to roam —
The night you were cussing the army, and longing for home again.
The turbulent feeling of madness, the grief and the awful pain.
What happened. Oh, men of the army — when the army fetters

galled?
li^Tiy you went from your tent in the darkness, and the army chap-
lain called.
He answered your call from the darkness, invited you into his tent.
And talked to you like a father, till all of your passions were spent.
He told you of Christ and his teachings, his wonderful gifts

to men.
Till you went from his tent to your little browm cot, at peace w^ith

with the w^orld once again.
Now listen you men who are married to the words I have w^ritten

here.
Do you remember the night you were thinking of the wife and the

babies dear —
Wlten the awful hot day and the drilling, vrere filling your

minds writh gloom.
And the thoughts of the Mexican Villa -were leading your souls
to doom.

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How you cursed and raved at the army, ^ivlieii you tiioug^ht of the

kiddies and wife.
And your mind was a seething; maelstrom, and you dammed all the

border strife.
Remember you men, w^ho are married — the nigrhts I am naming'

here—
When you left your tent in a temper, with a sordid thought and

a fear,
A fear that Uncle Sam's army would cross the border some nigrht.
And the w^ife and the kiddies waiting, would know that you'd

died in the fight.
Remember — you men w^ho are married, that night when your pa-
tience w^as spent.
Of the wonderful man, w^ho soothed you as you sat with him in

his tent.
The man of the God above you, the man who believes in the Lord,
The man w^ho told you of Jesus, Avho carried a flaming sword.
That man w^as our army chaplain — a very w^onderful man.
Who came w^ith you men to the border, and joined your soldier

clan.
The man, w^hom you all will remember, as the months and the

years go by.
The man who filled yon with comfort and wiped the tear from

your eye.
Oh, men of the regular army, and men of the volunteers.
Remember, your army chaplains, in this Valley of Strife and Tears..
You've Colonels, and Majors and Captains, who drill you with iron

in the rod.
But the man w^ho will bring you the farthest, is the Chaplain

soldier of God.

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Dedicated to the Men of the
National Guard

ONDERFUL men of the National luruard.
You who are g'oinjuf back.
Back to the states you came from,
AVith never a chance to hack
A notch on your rifles or pistols.
Because of a Mexican shot.
Or a memory of quick forced marcheH,
Thru the land God made and forarot*
'List to these words I have written.
Impress them all on your mind.
So when you are back in your home states.
Your thots of the border '11 be kind.
For months you have been on the Border,
'Alidst the dust and the vrind and the heat.
And you've drilled on the dusty P'rade grronnd.
With an ache in your back and your feet.
You've messed in the bloomin* mess hall,
When the mess -was as bitter as grail.
And you've messed on the red hot dobie,
W^hen there wasn't a building' at all.
You've dug: mesquite and cacti and thorns.
And ditches and holes in the ground,
'Till the sound of the pick and the shovel.
Was a weird and a Hellish sound.
You've baked in the blistering; sunshine,
W^hen doing your duty as guard,

W^hile your thots "»vere back in your home tow^n,
W^ith the grirl who had sent you a card.
You've cussed the Colonel and Majors,
The Captains and Lieutenants too.
And the things you have said of the president,
W^ere rabid and caustic and true.
You've taken the typhoid injections.
Had the vaccine scratched on your arm,
W^hile you thot of the torrns and the cities.
The woods and the ocean and farm.
You've longed for the smell of the big woods.
As yon drilled in a dusty file
W^hen the hot vrind blew from the desert.
And vrlped from your faces a smile.
You've policed the kitchen and stables.
Have vrorked with an axe on the vrood.
That warn used in the stove in the kitchen.

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For coakiras the GoTernment food.

You've dined on tlie luscious corned Willfey

T^^ith hard tack and beans a la mode,

An.d packed in a stifling Pullman,

Tvro thousand miles yon have rode.

You've hunted the bugs of the desert,

Like pirates vrho sought for a prize.

And for vpeeks you fought a real battle,

With thousands and millions of flies.

Oh, the things that yon did 'were distasteful.

But regardless of all that you spurned.

Every man vrho has been to the Border,

A wonderful lesson has learned.

You have learned ta be prompt and efficient.

Yon have learned to do as you're told.

You've learned to obey every order.

And the power of American gold.

You have learned of the man who is Presideist,

The man of them all who's to blame.

For keeping you men on the Border,

To help the political game.

Now^ men of the National Guard,

You vi'ho are going back.

To the towns and cities yon came from,

W^ith rifles and full marching pack;

Remember you're only a unit.

Just one of the soldier clan.

No longer a boy or a vreakling.

But a first class soldier and man.

Remember these things I have vnrittem.

That have caused you oodles of pain.

But forget them all virhen your Uncle

Sammy Long Legs needs yon again.

So here's to you men of the National Gtiard,

"Whom I came to the Border with.

You've established a place on the Border,,

That's real and not merely a myth.

You've grumbled and groTvled in the service.

You've hollered -with voices quite loud.

But eaeb of your states that sent yon.

Will feel of you all very proud.

Not only your states, but your country.

And Europe and all of the world.

Will remember you men of the National Guard,

Who onto the Bairder v»rere hurled.

So here's -wishing you luck on the Journey,

That's taking yon home once again.

You're a Hell raising bunch of good felloirs.

And every Damn one of you're men.

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I kjhe deserh dnf:f//2^ sand,

7he ai^/a/sunseh come nndgo,
7/26 duzzardssoaro/ihi^A,
7 he f/iunderc/ouds a'ro///ji^ s/oti/^
7he lighi/im^ f/'/hihe sky.

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OauniMsof/^ex/co, — : V'^J i\

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[da some W/z^f against my v^^cd, ^^^ ^
Do o]^hers'causeIi4'a/t6 ^'^^

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On the dar/edampmyAh, n^Ae.

ncxican A^Al^s, for ^/ze//zi!er/zaA/o/za/ lo/jc,

^ndi{sdamna6/i/Av^,a/zziJzdred,/^e//!{jod!
Here in. ihe border zo/ze •

Morc/^ by Scji fdCamp I//us/raifecf 6i/ 8- Cummmas
2nc/ r/on't-ana. In /

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS